


Just Get in, Malfoy!

by BoredRavenvlaw620



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bedsharing, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredRavenvlaw620/pseuds/BoredRavenvlaw620
Summary: North of the sixty-fifth it is cold. Hermione takes pity on an unprepared Draco Malfoy. The snuggle is real, y'all! Bedsharing trope inspired by the Dramione FanFiction Forum (18 ) Facebook group.





	Just Get in, Malfoy!

“Honestly, Granger, you act like you’re moving there permanently. It’s just a field trial,” Malfoy scoffed as he brushed the nonexistent dirt off his designer wool pea coat and adjusted the cashmere beanie covering his fine blond hair.

He wasn’t even trying to hide the look of amusement and derision at Hermione’s appearance. She was no slouch in the preparedness department. Field trial or not, she was certain that her gear would be dead useful and Malfoy would be eating his words later.

“I prefer to be prepared,” Hermione sniffed.

They reached out for the battered old camp kettle, careful to keep their respective hands to themselves and in a blink they felt that signature pull behind the navel followed by the swirling vortex before they landed; on their feet thank you very much this wasn’t their first day. 

It was cold. Really cold. But Hermione was prepared. It was an absolute thrill to finally be sent on this field training, and Hermione had spent all her spare time researching and subsequently gathering supplies for this mission.

Of course her stubborn partner on this outing had scoffed at her when she arrived at the portkey site dressed in full parka and snow suit with a hiking pack full to the brim with camping supplies, muggle camping supplies.

Her research revealed that once you crossed over the arctic circle, the concentration of ley lines and and proximity to the north pole would render their magic, unreliable at best, useless at worst.

Any magical beings or creatures that inhabited this area had done so for thousands of years and as such their magical signatures were attuned to the powerful influence. Hermione, however, and Malfoy, would not be so lucky. They would need to rely on their wits and a multitude of muggle gear to see them through the next forty-eight hours, before the indigenous tribe would be meeting them to assist with their extraction back to London.

“Morgana’s left nipple! It is cold out here! Why can’t I cast a warming charm?” He was clearly frustrated as he waved his wand helplessly.

Hermione’s deep suffering sigh was camouflaged by the wind and her eye roll was hidden behind her protective goggles. She’d known he wouldn’t read the sparse dossier provided by the Ministry and as such had taken it upon herself to procure the appropriate gear for him. She refused to fail due to his arrogance. “Your magic won’t work up here, put these on.”

She slung her heavy pack over her shoulder and produced a parka, snow pants, snow boots with spikes, goggles, gloves and a hat for the royal pain in the arse with whom she was sharing this mission. She even went as far as providing him with those nifty glove warmers that worked by popping the disk inside.

Malfoy donned all his gear with little hesitation. What choice did he really have it was put the coat on or die.

“Thanks, Granger, knew you’d be overly prepared.” She knew he was smirking behind the face muffler built into his parka.

“Come on, Malfoy, we don’t have much daylight to make it to the first waypoint.”

She turned in her spiked boot and began the hard trudge up the mountainside.

It was rough going. But the terrain was positively ethereal. The Aurora Borealis shone in the sky, the white creased crags of the mountains reflected the prism of light, it was, for lack of a better descriptor, magical.

Hermione stopped to check her GPS. Malfoy continued to stomp ahead, but quickly realized Hermione had stopped.

“Get a move on Granger.”

“I’m checking the coordinates, Malfoy, we have objectives you know.”

“Just use a locator and get on with it.”

“We can’t just use a locator, the ley lines in this area are magical suppressants to anyone who’s not native or hasn’t been here long enough to acclimatize. It’s muggle or its death.” She ground out.

He flipped what she knew was a perfectly manicured hand at her as if she was his servant. She could feel the grizzle of magic within begging to reach out and bitch slap that overly-coiffed-mama’s boy, but she took ten deep breaths and repeated the mantra that sustained her trough training thus far; you will not kill Malfoy. You will not kill Malfoy.

The breathing worked. She felt her magic calm and Malfoy lived to annoy her another day.

“Shouldn’t be much farther now.” She trudged forward, Malfoy following in her wake.

…

Making camp had been a special kind of hell.

Of course Malfoy had no clue how any of the equipment worked, nor did he seem at all interested in learning; he reluctantly provided the bare minimum of assistance to erect the tent. 

Hermione was just thankful they had shelter for the night, albeit small, but shelter nonetheless.

Malfoy watched disinterested as Hermione prepared and then attempted to light the small tent stove. 

“Honestly, Granger, it’s like you’re not even a witch,” Malfy sighed with an utterly affected eye roll, “Just cast an incendio.”

“Honestly, Malfoy, you’re too spoiled and lazy. Besides, like I told you before, our magic won’t work properly here.” She struck another match, once again failing to ignite the tinder she’d so carefully stuffed into the small stove.

Hermione heard the frustrated growl form Malfoy and watched as he tried futility to rub warmth into his arms. Maybe of he helped with the physical labor he wouldn’t be so cold?

The friction of the match head across the striker was a very satisfying feeling beneath Hermione’s frozen fingers. She held up the flaming stick and carefully brought it to the firebox.

She watched in fascination and relief as the fluffy ball of tinder caught light and began to burn the fuel around it. Hermione crouched before the fire for several long minutes, gently providing her own breath as additional fuel before she sat down in front of the makeshift hearth to finally rest.

“About bloody time.” Draco snarled pushing his way to the fire, “I thought I would freeze before you got it to light.”

Hermione chose not to respond, simply to breathe; you will not kill Malfoy. You will not kill Malfoy.

Ten breaths weren’t quite enough, but Malfoy managed to live. Pity.

To distract herself, Hermione riffled through her sack to find the food rations she brought and prepare her sleeping bag.

“Did you at least get yourself a sleeping bag, Malfoy?”

“I do not sleep in a bag, Granger.”

“Well do give my regards to Professor Snape when you cross over the veil due to exposure. Even with the tent and the stove, you may still get hypothermia! Why in the name of Salazar Slytherin did you not get a sleeping bag! It was in the information packet!” She was so angry at this point she didn’t even feel the cold.

He scoffed, “Surely we can transfigure a bed from my coat or something?”

You will not kill Malfoy...YET!

“YOUR MAGIC WON’T WORK HERE!”

“Have you even tried?” He challenged.

Hermione was done. D. O. N. E. Done! She waved her decidedly unmanicured hand in his direction with, what she thought, was an unimpeachable amount of flair. Malfoy seemed unimpressed as he retrieved his wand and attempted some transfiguration at a latitude above sixty-five degrees. Let’s see what you’ve got pretty boy.

It was unholy; the amount of satisfaction Hermione got from watching Malfoy wave his wand in impotent arcs and swirls while nothing happened. It did not make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside; the kind soul clenching warmth that came from a special place of transcendence when one was so beautifully right about something. She did not make that sensation her own and rub up against it like Crookshanks on a pot of catnip. She did not. Well, she did a little, but she tried really hard not to look so happy about it.

“Arrgh! I really can’t do magic!?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me!?”

“I’ve told you. Multiple times since we’ve arrived and the Ministry provided a dossier for you to review, which you clearly did not. Did you think it wouldn’t apply to you?”

He had to good sense to look apologetic about his assumption.

“I hope you like being cold, Malfoy.”

Hermione was mad. How dare he suppose his magic was above the laws of nature. Magic in and of itself was the very essence of nature and when you’re warned that your magic will not be compatible with an area, you freaking listen!

Hermione huffed about the tent, doggedly trying to ignore Malfoy. He seemed to be doing the same thing but with that overly practiced unaffected pureblood air about him.

Why did he have to be so stubborn?

He was an intelligent man. Hermione knew they could get along when they both put forth the effort. She tried to be polite, he seemed to try and work amicably, but it was hard for him to suppress his arrogance and better-than-thou attitude. But her ability to trudge forth in endeavors regardless of the untenable circumstances made her the only viable training partner for Malfoy. Rotten luck.

The silence wore on as she prepared the dehydrated soup and was only broken by his snorts of derision over his paltry but life sustaining meal.

It had long gone dark and Hermione was exhausted from doing the lion’s share (no pun intended) of work throughout the day.

As she snuggled down into her sleeping bag the first wave of guilt hit her. She watched as, even with the fire and arctic gear, Malfoy shivered before the small tent stove.

Hermione sighed, Harry must be rubbing off on me if I am so dead set to make sure Malfoy survives.

“Just get in, Malfoy.” Hermione groaned as she opened the sleeping bag.

“I’d rather freeze.”

“Suit yourself.”

Hermione was trying to snuggle deeper into the warmth of her bag when she felt rather than saw him.

With a disapproving shake of her head, she pulled down the zipper and indicated he enter the sleeping bag alongside.

Malfoy gingerly threaded his long legs into the down filled bag and zipped them both into their shared haven of warmth.

Hermione rolled with her back to him and Malfoy did the same. Thank Merlin for exhaustion because Hermione did not remember anything after that until light broke into the tent the following morning.

…

Hermione was pleasantly warm and a comfortable pressure was situated at her back and draping across her waist.

Hermione basked in the secure feeling of being held close and safe by...Draco Malfoy?

She laid perfectly still, trying to decide the best way to handle this development. Wake him up and demand he remove his hands from her person? Or feign sleep and hope he realized his mistake when he woke?

Hermione was not given long to decide on her course of action as at that very moment a new sensation was added to the line up. The tingling feeling of warm moist breath at the back of her neck combined with the pressure of one aristocrat’s perfectly pointed nose rubbing languorously along the column of her throat.

Feign sleep it was. There was no way Hermione was about to come face to face with the repercussions of Malfoy’s sleep induced seduction moves. Surely he would wake up in a moment once he realized who he was coming on to?

Hermione lay stock still. To move would have been to reveal oneself awake and she couldn’t risk adding any layers to the awkwardness permeating the tent.

It got worse. The longer she lay there still as a stone the more vigorous Malfoy’s attentions became. He must be one heavy sleeper and that must be one hell of a dream he’s having.

Malfoy continued to rub long stokes along the back of her neck with his nose and lips, his moist breath sending delicious chills down Hermione’s spine. He pulled her closer to his body with the arm slung over her waist, greedily exploring her chest and stomach all the while grinding what could only be an impressive package into her backside.

It took every ounce of willpower Hermione possessed to remain unmoving. 

The glorious feeling of a man’s touch wasn’t foreign to her, just notably absent in her life for longer than she cared to admit.

Draco...Draco? What the hell!? Oh, who cares! Draco felt so good with his hard planes and firm body pressed against hers; Hermione bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning aloud lest she awaken fully.

She was sure she would ignite the sleeping bag if he continued to rut into her like that, but she couldn't find it in her to care. Had it really been that long?

Before Hermione could answer that question, Malfoy froze. 

Hermione willed her breathing even and her face neutral as she felt Malfoy shift uncomfortably; rolling away from her body and thusly removing himself from the warmth of the sleeping bag.

Hermione listened intently as Malfoy moved around the small tent, stoking the fire and adding fuel as she had done the previous night and then stilling himself before the fire’s glow.

She allowed herself a few minutes to calm before stretching and retreating to the added warmth of the small stove as well.

They were quiet as they ate a sparse breakfast of porridge and packed the tent. Malfoy was uncharacteristically silent as he was forced to do things the muggle way, but the few chores were handled in short order and they set on their way to the next waypoint

It wasn’t until later that day that things went downhill.

…

Hermione was double checking the GPS when she found that it was not working. She replaced the batteries. She slapped it on the side. She cursed its very existence, but try as she might it refused to register their latitude and longitude.

Malfoy was blessedly silent about the whole event, but Hermione could tell that he was none too impressed with the failure of the muggle technology.

Hermione was admittedly none too impressed with it herself, but they went about preparing the tent and stove for another cold night in the arctic.

They ate in silence. Hermione got into the sleeping bag in silence. Malfoy looked at her beseechingly.

“Just get in, Malfoy.” It was the most they’d spoken all day.

The next morning was much like the previous.

Hermione lay completely still in the disconcerting security of Draco’s arms while he nuzzled and rubbed against her.

To say she was confused would have been an understatement.

The GPS refused to work.

This was the source of much discontent.

They spent the better part of their morning arguing about the merits of trekking onward versus sheltering in place.

Ultimately, Hermione’s argument of sheltering in place won out; she was certain she could blame her victory on her dedicated refusal to pack up the tent and supplies. She knew Malfoy had no idea how to take down the tent and stove or how to pack the rucksack.

The remainder of the day was spent in silence.

It wasn’t until they were cosily ensconced in the sleeping bag that evening that Malfoy spoke again, “Do you think we’ll get out of here?”

Hermione considered his question carefully, always one to weight the possibilities before jumping to a conclusion, “I do.”

“What makes you so certain.” He sounded so unlike himself, so unsure, that unnerved Hermione more than the possibility of being lost in the vast tundra.

“Well...it’s not like we’re out her on a whim. The ministry knows where we are and what our last coordinates were. Since we clearly won’t make it to the checkpoint, they’ll send a team of trackers from a local indigenous tribe to find us.”

“But how will they find us?”

“We need to keep the fire burning, the smoke will help. Also, we should shoot off a flare tomorrow morning just to be safe.”

“How can we shoot a flare? We don’t have magic.”

“There’s a muggle way for that too,” she sighed.

Hermione felt Draco relax at her back as she attempted to fall asleep, hoping everything she comforted him with would bring her the same measure of peace.

She had almost given over to the restful arms of Morpheus when Draco spoke again, “I did read it you know, the dossier. I just thought I’d be able to get around it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The limitations on my magic.”

Hermione hummed in understanding, she wasn't surprised, that seemed like precisely the thing he would think of himself. “It’s not because I’m a pureblood mind you.”

This got her attention.

“But I am a skilled wizard.”

Hermione stayed silent, while she agreed that he was skilled she saw no need to inflate his ego any more than it was.

“I just figured you’d assume the same. You are a highly talented witch.”

Hermione could not believe her ears. They had been training partners at Magical Law Enforcement for the better part of a year and not once, not once, had he told her he thought she was talented at magic.

“And just how long have you held this opinion of my magical prowess?” She asked quietly.

“Quite a while,” he answered softly.

Hermione nodded and turned her back to him to try and sleep once more, “Goodnight, Malfoy.”

“Goodnight, Granger.”

But before she could fall asleep, she felt Draco roll to his side, her back to his front, and drape his arm over her waist pulling her snug to his body.

Hermione hesitated briefly, but entwined her fingers with his and gave over to sleep at last.

…

Hermione was right. It felt good to be right.

Not long after shooting a flare from the emergency kit she so thankfully packed, they were found by a tracker who had been contracted by the Ministry.

Having lived in the area all his life, he was able to send a patronus and two very disorienting protkeys later they were back in London and up to their eyes in paperwork.

…

It was a week later that things really got interesting.

Hermione and Draco’s (yes, he was Draco to her now; at least in her head) working relationship had evolved from one of cool but polite indifference to a true partnership.

They were more cohesive during training simulations and the head of MLE was please that they were finally coming together as what he knew would be a strong team.

The interesting part was Draco’s treatment of Hermione outside of training and the office.

He began to bring her tea; prepared just as she liked it. He listened to her ideas and theories with constructive feedback instead of sarcasm and disdain. He held the lift door for her and led her through with a warm firm hand on the small of her back.

To say that Hermione was conflicted was an understatement.

She had not held the man in contempt for the mistakes of his youth. That reason alone was what placed her as his training partner. But she also did not regale him Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelor; leave that distinction to a less career focused woman.

No, she attempted to see him as an equal from the beginning of their partnership and refused to allow his attitude to interfere with her accomplishments.

Did this mean she was blind to his charms as a male. No siree! 

He was stunningly beautiful to behold and his way with the English language was positively delicious, she just wasn’t thrilled that he wielded that skill so cuttingly on her as often as he did.

Did she have a crush on her partner. No, she did not. She could appreciate the male form without romantic entanglements; but his new found respect and subsequent treatment of her was bringing to the surface a litany of feelings she was not ready to accept. Let’s not even talk about the way she felt upon waking alone for past week. Surely that meant nothing!?

…

Ah, solitude...and warmth. Hermione was ever more appreciative of her magic after just three days without it in the arctic. 

She was bundled on her sofa, hot cocoa in one hand, book in the other simply enjoying a quiet night at home.

Of course just as she was reaching a pivotal plot point in the story there was a knock at her door. 

Who knocks at the door? Why not just floo or owl?

Hermione set down her mug and book. She draped the blanket over the back of the sofa and padded her way to the door.

Hermione opened the door to find Draco Malfoy; well-dressed, well-coiffed, perfectly manicured, standing outside her door with his characteristic mask on his face, but something more shining in the depths of his eyes; was it hope perhaps.

In her surprise to find Draco at her door Hermione stood a few moments too long, with a look of too much shock and certainly too much silence.

And it wasn’t one of those comfortable silences. This grew thicker the longer they stared at one another only to dissolve when Draco cleared his throat. “I hope I'm not disturbing your evening,” he said sincerely as he subtly took in her legging clad lower limbs, oversized Hogwarts t-shirt and messy bun combination Hermione so favored when lounging about the house.

“Not at all. Just reading.”

He smiled at this. A wistful sincere smile. Hermione gasped quietly as she had never been witness to a true smile from Draco Malfoy.

“Did you want to come in?” She gestured toward her living area and opened the door wider in invitation.

Draco nodded and slipped into her flat. He stopped just past the entrance and waited for Hermione to lead.

He followed her quietly to the sofa and only sat when she indicated he was welcome to do so, removing his jacket in the process and draping it over the arm.

That thick silence began to envelop them once more and Hermione, brave Gryffindor that she was decided it was time to end it, “Why are you here, Malfoy.” Her voice was gentle and sincere, it wouldn't do to put him on the defensive.

Draco ran a hand through his hair; it fell perfectly back in place, and he sighed, “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, that’s to say, I haven’t slept particularly well in quite some time, but…” he trailed off and growled quietly to himself. 

Hermione knew that revealing anything about himself was a true weakness of his so she reached out and grasped his fidgeting fingers and entwined her hand in his.

Draco’s entire body stilled at this simple act. He looked into Hermione’s face to find her expression open but uncertain and her teeth clenched firmly in her bottom lip.

He took a deep breath, his countenance relaxing at that and reached over with his free hand to free her lip with his thumb.

He watched in fascination as Hermione’s pupils grew and her breath hitched at the intimate act.

“You took care of me. You made sure I would be safe and survive our training mission. Even though I’m still a twat to you most time.”

Hermione stifled a giggle at this and simply shrugged. “We’re partners. Plus I wasn’t going to fail the mission by bringing back your frozen lifeless corpse.”

He chuckled, but then resumed his serious demeanor, “I’m sorry...Hermione.”

The apology was superfluous, but she was certain that was the first time he’d used her given name, and did it ever sound good coming out of his mouth.

“It’s all right...Draco.”

It was Hermione’s turn to marvel at Draco’s blown pupils.

“I haven’t slept well since sixth year...but those three days in the tent...holding you...I slept so peacefully.”

Hermione had not considered the fact that she too slept well despite the obvious obstacles to such in the arctic.

“I know how you feel.”

He simply nodded. “So, I was thinking...wondering...what would you say to…”

Hermione began to giggle. Draco looked even more uncertain, but Hermione felt pretty confident in her next move.

Keeping her hand in his, she got up from the sofa and pulled him to stand; tugging lightly on his arm Hermione led him down the short hallway to her bed room.

Once inside she dropped his hand. Draco stood still as a statue as he watched Hermione walk to the far side of the bed. She reached beneath her overly large shirt and discard her leggings to a nearby chair; Hermione never taking her eyes off Draco’s.

Hermione pulled back the fluffy duvet and crawled under the covers. Draco stood nervously in front of the door.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but took mercy on him; flipping back the covers on the opposite side of the bed she smiled and said, “Just get in, Malfoy.”

He smirked. That cursed sexy smirk. 

Hermione watched as he slowly approached the bed, all the while his eyes fixed on hers, and all the while his deft fingers unbuttoning and removing his shirt and then moving to his pants, leaving him only in a pair of boxer briefs.

He slid into the bed looking every bit like the cat that got the canary. 

Hermione reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp and snuggled down into the covers. 

Cloaked in the still darkness of her bedroom, Draco drew Hermione to his side and wrapped her in the comfort of his arms.

They both found themselves instantly relaxed and drifted off to sleep with nary a word or question about this new development.

When the early rays of dawn crept into Hermione’s bedroom the following morning and she felt the sensation of Draco lips, tongue and body against hers; she did not pretend to be asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! It's just a fun little one shot with a fun little trope. All mistakes herein are mine as this wasn't beta'd. Kudos and reviews are appreciated.


End file.
